


Those Who Are Patient

by Talking_Bird



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Canon Continuation, Eventual Romance, F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-22 09:43:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6074512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talking_Bird/pseuds/Talking_Bird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grumman is dead. Roy Mustang is Fuhrer of Amestris and Colonel Riza Hawkeye is dutifully at his side. They've achieved their joint dream, but now they might have found the next one...in each other?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! So, I re-watched FMA: Brotherhood and I'm re-reading the manga now, so of course I wanted to write some Royai. Just for clarity's sake: Mustang is General and Riza is a Colonel at this point in time. I figured if Roy was climbing the ranks, then so was she. Also, canonically Grumman is Riza's maternal grandfather, but she doesn't know it according to Chapter 60, so I was playing with that.

**Chapter 1**

Fuhrer Grumman was dead. According to military personnel, he died of natural causes in his sleep. An official investigation and autopsy was performed in order to validate this claim.

 

The following week, after a routine mourning period, General Mustang was given the title of Fuhrer.

 

Colonel Hawkeye knew this day would come. One day, Fuhrer Grumman would die and General Mustang, the man she lived and (nearly) died for would become Fuhrer. It was what she fought for, shed blood for and yet…she cried at the late Fuhrer’s funeral. Just a couple of tears, but they confused her. She had no strong connection to this man, but his passing had left an odd little hole in her. Like she had lost something important.

 

She _should_ be happy. This was the General’s chance. The long awaited day, but she felt so guilty about her joy that she became depressed. No death should ever give her joy.

 

Col. Hawkeye wondered if the General felt the same because there was no look of triumph in his countenance. The passing of Fuhrer Grumman seemed to properly shake him.

 

That didn’t stop his coronation day from being a happy one. Lieutenant General Armstrong looked murderous, but other than that, it was a day full of smiles and congratulations. After the initial celebrations, the Fuhrer motioned for the Colonel to follow him. She obeyed, like always. She followed him in silence as they navigated through Central’s military branch. They finally landed in the Fuhrer’s office. It was bare with the except of the cleared out furniture and expensive dressings. Fuhrer Grumman’s books and personal items must have been cleared out to make way for the new Fuhrer.

 

The Fuhrer closed the door and took a few steps around the room, hands on his hips, and an air of accomplishment following him.

 

“We did it, Colonel” he said.

 

“Yes” she replied. He turned to her and smirked.

 

“’Yes’, what?”

 

“Yes, _Fuhrer Mustang_ ” she said, her lips curling into a smile against her will. Fuhrer Mustang’s smile got wider.

 

“Hearing you say it…now it feels real,” he said and took a seat at his new desk, “Please sit, Colonel”

 

She obliged.

“Sir?”

 

“Colonel, I think it’s time we had a frank discussion” he said seriously. His tone made her stomach drop.

 

“Of course, sir” she said. He looked across the desk directly at her, his hands folded at his chin, deep in thought.  

 

“Colonel, there’s no denying that your aid to me has gotten me this far. Now that I am Fuhrer, I think it’s time I look ahead to the future. Laws will be changed and roles will be switched”

 

“Sir?”

 

 “Your service to me has been invaluable. The dream we fought for is here. _Thank you_ ” he said and it was as sincere as she had ever seen him.

 

“Please, sir, I only ever did what I wanted” she said, an odd nervousness bubbling in her. The Fuhrer smirked again.

 

“I know, I know, but still, it’s equivalent exchange. My dream for yours. I can give you any rank you want, any position you want, just name it. Even then, I don’t think it’ll be enough”

 

She was stunned. What could he possibly mean? Another rank? Another position? The only position she had ever wanted was beside him. Her dream? She didn’t have one other than aiding her new Fuhrer.

 

Then, a dream popped into her head, quite uninvited. It was a silly, frivolous thought so she cast it away from her mind.

 

“Thank you, sir, but I still have a promise I have to keep. Now, more than ever, I have to make sure you stay on the right path. I haven’t forgotten” she said, her resolve strong. The Fuhrer laughed.

 

“I shouldn’t have expected anything less! Still, I think three gold stripes would look good on you. What do you say Brigadier General Hawkeye? Help me protect the people Amestris?” He asked, standing up and saluting her. She stood up and reciprocated the gesture.

 

“Sir!”

 

Then she noticed it: a smile on her Fuhrer’s lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. If she wasn’t mistaken, she swore she saw disappointment there.

 

In time, she would find out why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty short, but it gives you the idea. I'd like to update this consistently, but I work two jobs, and internship, and I'm a full-time grad student, so please have patience with me!
> 
> Expect a slow burn, but a burn none-the-less. Please let me know your thoughts in the comments and thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 

Roy Mustang, _Fuhrer_ Roy Mustang, sat at his newly appointed desk on the eve of his official appointment. His back faced the large-paned window that looked out over Central.

 

_I’ll have to rearrange my office_ , he thought as he scribbled away in his notebook. The Fuhrer’s back to a large-paned window? What an irresponsible design flaw. Roy Mustang did not bite and claw his way to the top just to be sniped from the back.

 

The Fuhrer sighed. It had been a long day. It still wasn’t real. Roy Mustang: Fuhrer of Amestris. He had thought about it for so long and now that it was here, he couldn’t quite believe it.

 

He looked down at the notes he had transcribed. He was working on his game plan. The country had been in an era of peace after the civil attack from seven years ago, but Amestris’ foreign affairs still weren’t stable. Luckily, Amestris had a strong ally with Xing and Creta, but Aerugo and Drachma were a different story. Amestris and Aerugo had been in conflict for so long that it made sense that there was still tension between them. Mustang felt certain he could negotiate better relations with them since their prince seemed open-minded and peace-driven. Drachma was a different story entirely.

 

The Drachman people were as tough and resilient as Briggs soldiers, which made them stubborn and able to hold a grudge for years. The massacre that occurred in 1914, seven years ago now, at the Northern wall was still greatly felt by the large country. It was their own damn fault for breaking the Non-Aggression Pact, but still, it worried the Fuhrer that such a powerful nation held such hostility towards his own.

 

Mustang felt a heavy weight land on his shoulders. It felt like a building had crumbled on top of him after the foundation had been demolished by dynamite. For the first time, Roy Mustang felt the heavy, heavy burden of behemoth responsibility. Suddenly, he was doubting himself. A wave of hidden insecurities came over him. Thoughts like “ _you’re too young_ ”, “ _You’re in over your head_ ”, and “ _One false step and you steep your country in another war_ ” filtered into his head.

 

Fuhrer Mustang stood up. He needed to get out of this stuffy office and get some fresh air. He had locked himself in here for at least ten hours. Being so sedentary was getting to him. He exited the Fuhrer’s quarters and was immediately greeted by nervous, enthusiastic salutes.

 

“Fuhrer Roy Mustang!” his four private guardsmen said in unison. He took off his peaked cap and his formal jacket, then passed it to the guard to his immediate right.

 

“I’m going out. No need to follow” he said as he unbuttoned the first button on his shirt.

 

“Sir! With all due respect, we can’t allow you to travel on your own! You could be attacked!” said the guard holding his articles.

 

“Nothing I can’t handle, Lieutenant”

 

“Sir, I really must insist-”

 

“I’m the Flame Alchemist, lieutenant. There’s not many enemies I can’t handle” Fuhrer Mustang said with a smirk.

 

“But sir!” the guard said again, but this time Mustang put a hand on his shoulder.

 

“I’ll be sneaking off a lot, lieutenant. You’ll have to get used to it,” he said and begun walking away with a wave, “can’t have you interrupting my date, now can I?”

 

He left them in a daze, but as he turned the corner, he swore he heard one of them say “still a womanizer…”

 

* * *

 

The Fuhrer walked down the street, his shadow moving as he got closer and further to the lamp posts lining the sidewalk. The summer night air was hot and sticky, and it made Mustang feel heavier than ever. He rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt up to his elbows and took the opportunity to de-style his slicked back hair. He normally didn’t like to be out in public looking so informal, but he hoped it would help him blend in more. It was an unnecessary precaution because hardly any one was out during this hour.

 

He took in a deep breath. He’d been Fuhrer for less than twelve hours and he was already holding tension in his shoulders from stress. He needed to decompress. He almost wished he was a smoker so he could mumble to himself “I need a cigarette” and then promptly indulge in one.

 

_There’s always women_ , he mused, but he had to be a little more careful with that particular vice from now on. It’s not like he was nearly as lustful as he made himself look. In truth, it was all a ruse to make him appear silly and unthreatening. After all, who would ever think that a man who only thought of women would have such ambitions? Still, he was only human and a man has his needs.

 

Mustang never bought sex, despite his connections with an old local brothel. He was a gentleman who brought women flowers and pulled out their chairs for them before they sat for dinner. Despite all his charms and all the ladies more than willing to be his bride, he never seemed to stay with one for longer than a couple of dates.

 

After walking a good, long distance from Central Headquarters, Mustang found an alley that looked like a welcome place to think. He leaned his back against the brick wall, his left knee raised to let his foot rest there as well, and stared at the other brick wall in front of him. He took another deep inhale. Roy Mustang was always very conscious of his breathing. It was imperative to the technique of flame alchemy, and in aiming. If the alchemist holds his breath, rather than breathing through the motions, the reactions could be sloppy. He had trained himself to breathe in as he aimed his fingers and then exhale as he let the flames go. It seemed silly, but it centered him, made him remember that his feet were on the ground, and helped him keep his head level. He could always tell he was stressed when he caught himself holding his breath and he had caught himself doing that a lot today.

 

He took another inhale and looked up at the clear night sky. He had to face it. He wasn’t bothered by his recent unfathomable responsibility or higher purpose, he was bothered by his interaction with Colonel –no, _Brigadier General_ — Hawkeye earlier that day.

 

It was a hard thing to define, his relationship to the Brigadier General, but it was undoubtedly precious to him. She was more than a support to him, she was more than just on his team, it was like they were…two halves of the same whole? Mustang scrunched his nose at the phrase.

 

_Too romantic_ , he thought. He groaned. This was the thing with the Brigadier General. He was always just on the cusp of hoping for a romantic affiliation with her, but always being pulled back by his military ambitions. He couldn’t be Fuhrer without her and she couldn’t be his aid if she was his… _something else_. It didn’t stop him from daydreaming from time-to-time however.

 

Sometimes he’d see her working on some paperwork with the sunlight from the windows illuminating her hair and he’d think about how it would feel nice to hold her. Then, he’d scold himself. He’d be good for a week or two, but eventually those kind of thoughts would sneak back into his mind. It was terribly irresponsible though. He couldn’t compromise their dynamic as it was. It had made him Fuhrer and it would make him a _good_ Fuhrer in the future. Who knows how that would change if their relations became romantic.

 

He felt it though, and felt it hard. He would kill anyone who tried to hurt her without a second thought. Nothing was so precious as her. He remembered the immediate aftermath of the civil attack on Central.

 

* * *

 

_He was blind. That was his truth now. He would never see the sky, or the flowers, or his country again. He would never be able to look someone in the eye or appreciate a work of art. He would have to retire and give up his dream of becoming Fuhrer. Maybe this was his punishment for wielding flame alchemy. Stupid, foolish Icarus that he was. Flying too close to the sun._

_“Colonel?” asked a familiar voice._

Ah, I’m glad I can still hear _, he thought as he recognized the voice of his Lieutenant Hawkeye. He was in a military medic station, sitting on a box of who knows what (not him, he can’t read any more). He was relieved to be alone for a while, but that was trumped by the pure joy of hearing his lieutenant’s voice._

_He heard her approach and felt a warm hand on his knee and one on his arm. This was such a comfort to him. Not long ago he thought he was going to lose her, but they were both alive. More importantly, she was._

_“Lieutenant, shouldn’t you be resting? Your neck…” he said._

_“I’m fine” she said and without giving himself permission he reached his hand out. He was aiming for her neck, but touched her cheek first. His fingers lightly trailed down until his fingers felt the bandaging on her neck. She was okay._ She was okay _._

_“Lieutenant…”_

_“Colonel?” she asked, confused. Then, he wrapped her in a tight embrace. He needed to. It wasn’t enough to just hear her. He couldn’t look at her face, so he needed to hold her. Hold her until he was absolutely convinced that she was okay. It took a couple of seconds, but she returned his embrace without a word._

_“I’m so glad you’re okay” he mumbled into her hair._

_“I was under strict orders not to die, remember?”_

_He laughed and released her._

* * *

 

He had known for a very long time that she was the most important person to him. She was more than a subordinate and she was more than a friend. It was scary to think of what the other possibilities were. 

 

There was also the issue of how indebted he was to her. She had done just as much work as he had, if not more, and the only thing she’d accept from him was the next rank up. She deserved a leadership position. She was far too competent to just be his aid, but all she wanted was to make sure he stayed on track. He was happy, of course, he always wanted to work with her, but a small part of him had hoped she’d say her dream was to be with him.

 

_Fool_ , he thought in regards to himself. He knew better than that. Brigadier General Hawkeye wasn’t the kind of woman who’d go mushy on you just because you throw out words like   
“dream” and “future”. Hell, she might not even feel the same as him.

 

The Fuhrer looked down at the scar on his hand that was shaped like a transmutation circle. He remembered the tears in his officer’s eyes when she thought he had died. He’d never seen her cry before that. Not even when her father died. He remembered when she stopped him from killing Envy. He remembered her pulling her weapon on him. He could practically hear her hand shaking.

 

_“Please Colonel…don’t go where I can’t follow” she said, her voice shaky._

_“If you’re going to shoot, shoot,_ ” _he replied, the rage in his body barely able to contain itself, “what will you do after I’m dead?”_

_He heard her let out a small gasp and then a beat of silence._

_“I have no desire to live a happy, carefree life all alone. After this battle is over, my body will leave this world with the corpse of the Flame Alchemist” she said and he couldn’t keep it in any more. He let out a powerful blast of flame to his right. In no world would her ever let Riza Hawkeye die because of him._

 

That was two times she made it clear she would die if he did. Then, when her throat was slit to manipulate him into performing human transmutation, she made it clear she’d rather die than have him try such a thing.

 

Then, surely, she must love him? Why should she figure her life was only worth living if he’s alive? The only rational answer was love.

 

Then, Fuhrer Mustang remembered the tattoo on her back. The secret to flame alchemy. The thing that made Mustang the “Hero of Ishval” or killer of countless. He knew she felt an unbearable guilt in showing him her father’s research, so perhaps she would only let herself die once she knew he, the only other living soul who knew the secret, was also dead. Maybe, their only connection was the guilt they shared over Ishval. He had turned her into a killer. It was his fault. He never should have persuaded her to let him see her back.

 

How dare he think he deserve her. He was the root of her misfortune. The catalyst of her guilt-ridden nightmares. He was too greedy. He had finally become Fuhrer and now he wanted Brigadier General Hawkeye too? No, he had to let it go. No matter how important she was to him. She was too loyal and too pure to be with a man like him. She deserved a truly good man, and there was no way he could define himself as such.

 

The Fuhrer began walking back to his office, the night air suddenly feeling cold. He tried to rid his mind of the Brigadier General, but she kept making her way back. His thoughts wondered to her sleeping next to him, but then quickly transformed into the memory of her burying a dead Ishvalan child.

 

He shivered. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I realize this is really angsty and all, but we’ll get happy fluff at some point, just stick with it!
> 
> So, I never realized this, but there’s actually a lot different between Brotherhood and the manga. I’ve been following Manga canon and I’ve been quoting scanlated version of scenes, so if the dialogue is different than how you remember, that’s why. 
> 
> I had to do so much research on the neighboring countries for this chapter haha. 
> 
> I was planning for this to all be from Riza’s perspective, but then I had this idea and whoops. 
> 
> It gets old referring to them as their titles, but calling them Roy and Riza feels wrong. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! I’d love to hear your thoughts!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Being the Fuhrer’s right hand (wo)man wasn’t nearly as glamorous as it sounded. Sure, Brigadier General Hawkeye would often act as body guard, willing to risk her own life to keep her Fuhrer safe, or sometimes she was asked her council on important political matters, but most of the time she was a glorified secretary. She spent hours on the phone and filling out paperwork.

 

_“Yes, Colonel Howitzer, I will make sure the Fuhrer includes the South in the Drachma treaty draft…yes, Colonel. All of Amestris will be represented. You don’t have to worry”_

This was a large part of her work: hearing the complaints and queries of the lower ranks. It wouldn’t have been so bad if not for the fact that nine out of ten calls were straight-up _stupid_.

 

On top of being monotonous and boring, the Fuhrer often blew the calls off when she brought them up. She couldn’t really fault him for it though. They _were_ ridiculous. Sometimes, it was a Lieutenant who thought their Colonel was too mean and wanted to be reassigned, or a Major complained that they should receive the same compensation as a State Alchemist since, after all, they were technically the same rank, or you just had green recruits who thought they knew everything they needed to know about politics and figured you’d actually appreciate their opinion.

* * *

 

When Riza came into the office one morning, about a month after Fuhrer Mustang’s appointment, she braced herself for another tedious phone session. For the first couple of hours, it was a complaint on top of complaint, but an hour before lunch, Riza received a very different call.

 

“Hello, you’ve reached the office of Fuhrer Roy Mustang. This is Brigadier General Riza Hawkeye speaking, how may I be of service?” she answered, reciting a script she all but mumbled in her sleep she said it so often.

 

“Ah! General! This is Lord Speaker Stormer” said a proper, older voice. This surprised the General. She’d never received a call from parliament, let alone its leader, the Lord Speaker. Parliament, generally, was considered a figurehead rather than an actual political presence, but they did have some pull. They’re the body that votes on who should be appointed Fuhrer in the event that the current one retires or dies. She was convinced that the Fuhrer needed to keep relations with them _very_ friendly, if he planned to make the country a true democracy. It was probably a good idea to be friendly anyway. He was indebted to them.

 

“Lord Speaker, it’s an honor. How can I help you?”

 

“Well, General, It’s a bit of a sensitive matter. I hope I can trust that you’ll only share our discourse with the Fuhrer?” he asked.

 

“Of course, sir”

 

“Brigadier General, you can not be blind to the fact that the Fuhrer is, um, well, very _young_ ” he said and Riza didn’t like where this was going.

 

“Yes, sir. I believe he is”

 

“Right, right. Now, I’m sure you understand that the Fuhrer’s age is a little concerning to the rest of parliament and perhaps to the rest of the country. Some, not all, may think he lacks experience”

 

“I can’t understand why, sir. He was the most qualified”

 

“Yes, of course, but y’know, between you and me General, we voted in Roy Mustang, but Lieutenant General Armstrong was a close second” Stormer said, and something akin to annoyance struck Hawkeye.

 

“I believe it’s General Armstrong now” she said curtly.

 

“Yes, of course. What I’m trying to say is, we need to make sure the people of Amestris believe in Fuhrer Roy Mustang. Yes, he was a war hero and was detrimental during the Promised Day, but we worry he isn’t quite… _likable_. I know it may seem very shallow and silly, but Amestris is still fragile. We _need_ him to be the right decision for Amestris”

 

“I’m still not sure what you’re proposing” she said.

 

“Well, we’re hearing a lot of concerning rumors that he’s a bit of a… _lady’s man_ , for lack of a better term. That, and the fact he has familial relations with a Madam…well, I’m sure you understand our concern”

 

“Did you not know of these things before you appointed him?” she asked.

 

“Well, we figured it was an ailment that could be remedied”

 

“How?”

 

“Brigadier General, the Parliament of Amestris would like for you to please implore the Fuhrer to take a wife at his earliest convenience” Stormer said as if he was simply asking for a file to be sent to him. Hawkeye was shocked. She didn’t understand why, but she felt something ugly twist and writhe in the pit of her stomach.

 

“Your idea is for him to take a wife?” She asked, keeping her cool demeanor.

 

“I know, I know. It sounds absolutely archaic, but Fuhrer Mustang is the only Fuhrer in Amestris history who has never been married”

 

“He’s also the youngest”

 

“Yes, yes, but thirty-six is starting to get past the marriageable age” Stormer said and she felt her stomach make another angry lurch. It was time to put her foot down.

 

“Sir, the Fuhrer will get married when he pleases. I will not press him to make such a decision” she said with steely conviction. Silence filled her receiver. After a moment, Riza heard him take a sharp inhale of breath.

 

“You know, General Hawkeye, many of us saw how you fought together with the Fuhrer on the Promised Day. You certainly are close aren’t you?”

 

“Sir-”

 

“I think the people would be quite touched if the Fuhrer found himself in love with a fellow soldier. It might mean retirement, but certainly Lady Fuhrer is a better rank than _Brigadier General_ ”

 

“Sir!” she said and she could feel herself shaking. This wasn’t the first time someone assumed that her relationship with Roy Mustang was more than professional, but something about Stormer’s slimy voice and his insinuation she should give up her career to be a professional wife infuriated her.

 

“I’m sorry, Brigadier General. That was out of line. It was a bit of a pipe dream of mine. After all, you’d be such a lovely Lady Fuhrer. I understand I was mistaken. Before you decide _not_ to discuss this matter with the Fuhrer, please consider that a wife would make him far more amiable in the eyes of the people. After all, they loved Fuhrer King Bradley, may he rest in peace. Goodbye, General” Stormer said and then, hung up.

 

It took a second for Riza to lower her receiver. She was stunned. She didn’t know what to think. She had never considered that civilians may not view the Fuhrer favorably. What was worse about the whole thing was that Stormer was _right_. A leader with a family was easy to empathize with. It made him human, rather than war machine and “war machine” was the only public persona the Fuhrer had.

 

Riza imagined him with a wife. A pretty girl with soft eyes and chestnut hair. He could see him kissing her cheek and smiling at her, while a little boy played in the grass in front of the Fuhrer Mansion. It was a pretty picture. It was so easy to be charmed by the warmth, because surely, Roy Mustang would be a devoted husband and father. The ugly thing wriggling inside her belly convulsed.

 

It wasn’t just a good political move, it was _brilliant_. She knew that the Fuhrer hadn’t completely won over the people yet. He had strong support in the east after his work with Ishval, but the north was hopelessly devoted to General Armstrong and the rest of the country was weary of all the blood he shed, especially for someone so young.

 

Riza put her chin on her hand while her elbow rested on her desk. She was thankful for her private office at times like this. It felt inexplicably rude to suggest that the Fuhrer think about selecting a wife, but if it helped his image, if it made relations with the country easier, if it meant gaining the people’s trust…then, didn’t she have an obligation to at least mention it to him?

 

She sighed. This shouldn’t have put her in as much turmoil as it did. She was always so calm, but her protective side was making her anxious. She said she’d always protect the Fuhrer. Did marrying for an image rather than love count? It’s not as if he _couldn’t_ marry for love, but love takes time. He couldn’t just grab some girl off the street and fall love with her. Or maybe he could…

 

As her stomach was about to boil its own innards, her phone rang again. She answered it.

 

“Brigadier General Hawkeye” she said, too exhausted to give her full spiel.

 

“General, come to my office. I have to discuss something with you” said the Fuhrer.

 

“Yes, sir” she said.

 

* * *

 

The Fuhrer’s office had changed since his appointment a month ago. His own books were installed on the shelves and he brought in a table with chairs near the large window where the desk used to be. The table always had a lovely bouquet of freshly cut flowers in a china vase as the center piece. His desk now resided on the west wall and was already messy with documents and dirty coffee mugs.

 

The Fuhrer was sitting at his tea table and looking out the window. There was something very beautiful about the scene. He was very still as sunlight cascaded around him like a halo. He seemed ethereal and regal. His strong jaw line and determined eyes enhanced the effect. It was also the way he carried himself. Riza had noticed this over the past month. Becoming Fuhrer had filled him with a certain… _resolution_. He walked with purpose and conviction. His presence was heavier and demanded notice now. It felt overwhelming sometimes, but there was also something luscious about his rich aura. It was something to indulge in.

 

She watched him stare out past the gardens for a couple of seconds before Fuhrer Mustang turned his head to look at her.

 

“General. Please, sit down” he said motioning to the seat adjacent to him. She obeyed.

 

“Sir” she said as she sat down.

 

“I made you a cup of tea. One sugar and a squeeze of lemon, right?” he asked.

 

“Yes, thank you, sir” she said and made a point to take a sip of the tea in front of her. She knew she shouldn’t be surprised when the Fuhrer knew details about her, after all, they had known each other for a very long time and he had an observant eye, but still, it always pleased her to know that he paid attention. Silly, really.

 

“I just had a very interesting conversation with General Armstrong,” he said and Riza looked up at him, “Apparently, she has intel that Drachma officials would like to invite me to discuss the peace treaty in-person at their capital”

 

“How fortunate” Riza said.

 

“Yes, very convenient, isn’t it?”

 

“Sir-”

 

“Yes, I know, I know,” he smirked, raising a hand to silence her, “but refusing to meet them would be like taking the first shot. There’s no way around it”

 

“Drachma doesn’t like to play fair, sir”

 

“I know, but I’ve always got you to protect me, don’t I?” he asked and this time he looked her dead in the eyes with a kind, sad expression. She momentarily froze, but then took another sip of her tea.

 

“You already know the answer to that” she said and she could feel him grin.

 

“We leave for Drachma in a week. We’ll have to organize the arrangements quickly” he said, looking back out the window. She studied his face for several seconds until it was just a moment too long. She was getting into a bad habit of staring at him.

 

“Yes, sir” she said as she rose from her seat and got to work.

* * *

 

The train ride from Central to Briggs was long, but the Fuhrer had his own private train which was generous in lavish furnishings. It looked more like a room in a mansion rather than a box car, but Riza was just thankful for the comfortable seats. She was also grateful that the boxcar had been designed to be sound proof, so the various guards protecting the two opposing sides of the Fuhrer’s boxcar wouldn’t be able to hear their conversation. The last thing she wanted was for others to hear her speaking of marriage to the Fuhrer.

 

She sat across from him as he, again, looked out the window to his great country. Riza had a theory about this. She thought that he was so inclined to look out windows lately because he wanted to physically watch over his country. As if the country was a child playing in the yard while he watched from the front porch. She always knew he took the position of Fuhrer seriously, but she had no idea how much until he was finally sworn in.

 

 _He’s changed_ , she thought and it wasn’t for the worse. It was good. She didn’t think she could respect him more than she did, but he proved her wrong. He really was going to change this country. That’s why she had to help him.

 

She took a deep breath. She didn’t want to do this. Her inhale made the Fuhrer take notice of her.

 

“What’s the matter?” he asked, and she straightened her back. There was no avoiding it now. It wasn’t her style to evade anyway.

 

“Sir, Lord Speaker Stormer from Parliament asked me to discuss a sensitive topic with you” she said coolly.

 

“Fire away, Brigadier General”

 

“Parliament have discussed your public image and based on your young age, your reputation as a war hero, and your lascivious nature, they feel it would be pertinent for you to take a wife in the near future to gain the trust of the people” she said, never breaking her resolve to look him straight in the eye.

 

The Fuhrer stared at her for several seconds. She was about to ask if he was okay when he started laughing.

 

“Sir?” she asked. He composed himself.

 

“General, I don’t plan to make some poor woman enter into a loveless marriage and ask her to bear my child in order to improve my _public image_. I’m not a homunculus”

 

“Of course not, sir” she said and part of her felt relieved, but another part of her felt oddly disappointed. The Fuhrer picked up the newspaper on the seat next to him and opened it, his eyes scanning for an article to read.

 

“Plus, you should know by now, you’re the only woman in my life, General” he said easily. Riza felt an immediate sharp pain in her chest. She looked at him with narrow eyes. Was that a joke? She knew him so well that she’d always been able to tell, but she couldn’t pinpoint his intentions at all now. She looked out the window to the rolling green hills and blue sky.

 

“Then you should know that I’m ready to take on any role you ask of me, sir” she said, her voice level. The words fell out of her mouth without permission. It was certainly a rash thing to say, but it was truth. She felt the Fuhrer look up and stare at her. She turned to meet his eyes and didn’t hide her conviction in the matter. He looked surprised, but there was a certain softness in his eyes that made it impossible to look away. Was he touched…or hurt?

 

“General…” he said softly and Riza wondered if he really was hurt.

 

“Never mind, sir. Please use me how you see fit” she said quickly. She picked up her folder full of paper work and began looking the files over. The Fuhrer went back to his paper and the palpable tension that had been so heavy before evaporated as the train chugged along through the rural countryside of the north.

 

* * *

 

As the hours ticked by, the land outside began losing color. Green hills slowly faded into white ones and blue skies turned grey. They were in Briggs country now.

 

* * *

 

Their arrival at Fort Briggs was as formal and icy as Riza predicted. The soldiers were all very polite, but she knew resentment when she saw it. How could they not be resentful? After all, their General had out-ranked the current Fuhrer for a good while before he was appointed. Still, the Fuhrer had tried to show good faith by making Armstrong his General. This was appreciated, but there was still a lingering annoyance felt towards him and his “baby face”.

 

* * *

 

General Armstrong greeted the Fuhrer’s party with a glower as they walked into her large, practical common quarters. It was really just four walls of reinforced steel and a large, inviting fireplace on the east wall with a desk on the north one. It was warm, but Riza felt a chill run through her. The north was her least favorite part of Amestris.

 

General Armstrong stood up and saluted the Fuhrer, her eyes narrowing at his epaulettes.

 

“It’s an honor, Fuhrer Mustang” she said with venom in her voice. The Fuhrer smiled.

 

“Why thank you, General. Briggs is looking in top form, like always”

 

“Sir, I don’t think I need to lecture you on the resilience of Briggs men” she said.

 

“No, no, you don’t. The soldiers here are beyond compare and all thanks to their exceptional leader. I had hoped I’d convince you to fulfill your General duties at Central, but it would be blasphemous to separate you from your throne” Fuhrer Mustang said, laying on the charm. General Armstrong smiled back, but there was no kindness in it.

 

“I can do my General duties fine from here. I wouldn’t trust one of your buffoons to run my wall while I loafed in Central” she said, sitting back down at her desk and offering The Fuhrer and Riza a seat.

 

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you” the Fuhrer said as he and his Brigadier General sat on the seats opposite of General Armstrong.

 

“Enough chit-chat,” she said, letting go of formalities, “You’re going in to negotiate with Drachmans. They’re sneaky, hard-ass bastards. I doubt this formal invitation is anything civil. They probably have some ludicrous plan to get back the north”

 

“You’re right, but a peace treaty needs to at least be attempted or we’ll be at odds with them forever” the Fuhrer said.

 

“They’ll want you to tear down the wall”

 

“I won’t let that happen”

 

“They won’t negotiate on that” General Armstrong said sternly.

 

“I have a plan”

 

“I’m not convinced”

 

“I plan to use your fleet of tanks”

 

“All of them?” she asked, her eyes widening.

 

“Yes. The Drachmans won’t yield in the interest of peace, but they just might if they realize it’s in their best interest to” the Fuhrer said and a genuine smirk bloomed on General Armstrong’s face.

 

“Nice to see you’re finally acting like a man, _Fuhrer_ ” she said. The Fuhrer stood up and Riza followed.

 

“Please have everything prepared tonight, General. We leave for Tetrebol in the morning” he said.

 

“Yes, sir” she said, standing up and saluting. The Fuhrer saluted her back and headed out of the office. Riza followed behind him and watched his back as he marched on, flanked by guards on either side. He seemed so far away in that moment. He wanted to use military force to bring peace. What if they fought back? Was he willing to war with another country in order to establish dominance?

 

Her head was swimming. The Fuhrer’s path seemed to get darker and more complicated the further they walked down it. Was violence always the answer? She took a deep breath in.

 

If the Fuhrer was destined to bring more war upon Amestris, she needed to have her gun at the ready. As they walked down the winding hallways of the fortress, Riza looked at the Fuhrer’s back.

 

It had never been as large of a target as it was now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Finally finished chapter three! Yes! Boy, Roy and Riza are really hard to write in character. They’re so formal, gosh darn it! I wish they’d just refer to each other by first names. 
> 
> This fic is really odd. I never expected it to be so political. /sigh it comes with the territory I guess. 
> 
> I also think I kind of understand why they never got together officially together in canon. It’s really hard to justify it since they’re both so guilt-ridden and stubborn. Oh well, we’ll get them there. Next chapter will bring new developments between them!
> 
> Couple things:   
> -Stormer and Howitzer are both British artillery  
> -People call Riza “General” instead of “Brigadier General” sometimes as an abbreviation. It’s a weird military thing. It’s like how you’d still call a 2nd Lieutenant “Lieutenant”.   
> -Tetrebol is another denomination of Drachma (Ancient Greek currency) and for purposes of the fic, the capital of Drachma. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! I always really appreciate your comments so keep ‘em coming! Bye bye for now!


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

 

If it was possible, Drachma was even colder and harsher than Briggs. Their slothful trek to Tetrebol was made worse by a snow storm that raged the entire night. Briggs had specialized tanks that normally tore through the snow, but even they struggled against the heavy snowfall and fifty mile-per-hour winds.

 

It took them ten hours to reach Tetrebol, a distance that should have only taken six hours. The large party rolled into the open city gates and stopped at its center in front of a large, city-hall-like building called The Alexander. The Alexander had large pillars that connected the roof to the steps that led to the entrance. It stood in the center of hundreds of Tetrebolian tenements that all seemed to be the same shade of brown and looked as if each gust of wind would be the one that finally toppled them over. The Alexander, however, was beautiful. It was a mixture of rich woods and deep bronze metals that made it look impenetrable. It stood in the middle of the city like an island. A wide round-about separated the Alexander from the rest of the city. From the Fuhrer’s understanding, the building served as the place where legislation was discussed and passed.  

 

When the Amestrian soldiers finally began filing out of their tanks, they were all sore, hungry, and a few degrees short of getting frostbite. Fuhrer Mustang had made sure to bring a lot of man power with him to Tetrebol, but not nearly as much as he wanted. General Armstrong had convinced him to only take half of her tank fleet. It would be unwise to leave Briggs completely unprotected. Still, he had fifteen tanks that housed six to eight soldiers each. Not a bad showing in the least.

 

_It should be enough to dissuade unfriendly negotiations_ , Roy thought. His own tank housed himself, Brigadier General Hawkeye, Lieutenant Falman, General Armstrong’s new aide: Major Pershing, and a Briggs soldier who operated the tank.

 

_They’d be fools to try anything_ , the Fuhrer thought. He mused that if they _were_ attacked, the Brigadier General would protect him at all costs.

 

The party began filing towards the entrance to the Alexander. Falman and Pershing flanked behind him while the Brigadier General was ahead of him. He took the opportunity to look at the back of her head. He felt a sudden tightness in his chest.

 

_“Then you should know that I’m ready to take on any role you ask of me, sir”_

That’s what she had said. It had shocked him, of course. The obvious translation, to him anyway, was that she meant she’d be his bride should he wish it. The tightness in his chest increased. Stupid, self-sacrificing woman. How could he ask that of her?

 

_Unless, she’d want to_ , he thought, his head quickly filling with images of coming home to her. He pushed them down into some dark corner of his mind and refocused on the task at hand. His career was far more important than his personal life. Peace. That’s what mattered. Nothing else.

 

With some degree of success, he was able to put his mind back on track. When they reached the large doors of the Alexander, Roy noticed the streets were eerily quiet. It felt as if the town had been completely abandoned. Before he was able to think much of it, the large wooden and bronze doors of the Alexander opened.

 

“Fuhrer Roy Mustang, what an honor!” said a man with more facial hair than face.

 

“Tsar Falk! The honor is all mine” the Fuhrer said with a polite bow, his hand over his heart. The Tsar reciprocated the gesture. He was a tall, striking man with a thick, well-kept, black-and-white beard and mustache. He was taller than the Fuhrer by a head and he had dark eyes that felt like a precision shot when their attention was on you. He was smartly dressed with formal charcoal-grey military wear that was covered in medals and adornments. He had lavish silver epaulettes on his shoulders, silver aiguillettes that draped his left shoulder, and a blue satin sash that crossed across his chest and over his right shoulder. Even his air seemed to be decorated with a regality that Roy doubted he could ever replicate.

 

The two men shook hands as each of their guards eyed them cautiously. The Tsar’s guards were much less formally dressed with long grey coats and ushankas. They all seemed to share a genetic trait for thick and dark brows that were perpetually furrowed.

 

“Please, come in. Relieve yourself from the cold. I’m afraid your soldiers will have to stay outside. My own soldiers are bringing out fires and warmer dressings for them now. Unfortunately, the Alexander is doing some maintenance to our furnaces so it is rather cold inside. I was hoping the repairs would be done by the time of your arrival, but we fell behind” the Tsar said. Even with the furnaces down, this was a far warmer welcome than Roy expected.

 

“You’re very kind, thank you. Amestris is grateful for your hospitality” the Fuhrer said.

 

“Of course, please take it as sign of our good will towards peace” the Tsar said. Underneath his layers of whiskers, he smiled.

 

“So, Tsar, is there a place we can speak?” Roy asked, wanting to get to work.

 

“Yes, I thought we could talk in my office. I have a large fireplace that will keep us warm. Please, follow me this way” the Tsar said as he led the group inside the Alexander and up a luxurious flight of stairs. They walked down hallways that seemed to take them deeper and deeper into the building. When the Tsar finally stopped in front of two intricately carved white doors, Roy got the impression that they were as deep into the building as they could go.

 

“I hope you won’t mind if mine and your soldiers would stay outside and guard the doors? I feel this is a private discussion between men” Tsar Falk said.   

 

“That’s fine, but I insist that my aide, Brigadier General Hawkeye,” he gestured to her and she bowed, “accompanies me. I’m afraid we’re a packaged deal”

 

“I see. Well, if that is how it must be, then that is how it must be” the Tsar said as his soldiers opened the doors to his office. He gestured for them to come in first and quickly followed behind as the doors shut. He traveled behind his large desk and sat down, again gestured for them to sit. The Fuhrer complied, but the Brigadier General kept standing and kept a polite distance, trying to blend in with the walls.

 

The office was small for an office of a leader of a nation, but it was grandly decorated. The light sources were all made of crystal, expensive books graced the bookshelves, and a plush, red carpet covered the wooden floor. The office had an enormous fireplace on the west wall that roared like a lion and heated the room generously. Roy worried he’d begin sweating from the heat.

 

“So, Fuhrer, we are both reasonable men I think, yes?” the Tsar asked.

 

“I certainly would like to think so” he replied.

 

“Then I’m sure you have no desire to avoid the matter at hand”

 

“None at all”

 

“Good. I’ll state this clearly, Fuhrer. My country and myself, we desire peace, but we do not forget the blood that was spilt sever years ago” the Tsar continued.

 

“I understand that, but Amestris was _not_ the one to break the Non-Aggression Pact”

 

“Such trivialities make no matter to the wife of a soldier who raises four babes on her own after such an onslaught”

 

“No, I’m sure it doesn’t, but you can’t expect us to have laid down our arms after you willfully broke a peace agreement” The Fuhrer keeping his head and voice level.

 

“I do not wish to put the blame on you. I killed my men as much as the Briggs’ soldiers did. This I acknowledge as true. However, my people will not stand for amiable negotiations with Amestris without some form of...compensation” the Tsar said and Mustang didn’t like the sound of that.

 

“What did you have in mind exactly?” the Fuhrer asked, his voice growing deeper. The Tsar stood up and began looking into his large fire. The heat was starting to get to Roy. He felt his skin begin to dampen.

 

“I have two proposals. The first is the most reasonable and will bring the happiest of outcomes I believe. The second, I will not reveal unless you refuse the first offer. I hope it does not come to that” the Tsar said and something in his voice put the Fuhrer on the defensive. He too got out of his seat. He felt the Brigadier General come by his side.

 

“Alright, Tsar Falk. What’s your first proposal?” the Fuhrer asked. The Tsar turned away from his fire to look at Roy. His eyes bore into him like lasers.

 

“The wall. You destroy it. How can peace be obtained when such an abhorrence exists?”

 

“Your country has proven to be violent and untrustworthy. You’ve already broken one Pact. What’s to stop you from attacking our country once we tear it down?”

 

“We are making a peace treaty, Fuhrer. Quite a larger commitment than a _pact_ ”

 

“If you can’t keep your small commitments, why should I believe you’ll keep your large ones?” the Fuhrer asked, sweat now rolling down his brow.

 

“Trust is a part of Peace, Fuhrer” the Tsar said.

 

“No. No, Amestris will not tear down the Briggs wall. I’m afraid such a step can’t be obtained until you and your country can prove to be good allies.”

 

The Tsar smirked. Roy felt his hands tingle as they anticipated a fight. Another bead of sweat rolled down from his hairline.

 

“That’s really too bad Fuhrer. I thought you were going to be such a sensible leader” the Tsar said and quickly placed his hands on the ground. The spot glowed and Roy realized there must be a transmutation underneath the carpet. The Fuhrer and the Brigadier General were both about to attack when there was a glowing beneath their feet, and suddenly sharp pains erupted all over their body. It felt like millions of needles were entering his skin, making it impossible to do anything but fall to the floor and writhe. 

 

_He’s using some form of Alkahestry. That’s the only way to get that kind of distance_ , Mustang thought. The Tsar began to laugh.

 

“Xing really is such a fascinating country. My ambassadors certainly learned a lot from their practices. We added our own touches, of course. How does it feel Fuhrer? I imagine your pores filling with frozen sweat would be really uncomfortable. Sweat has to be frozen at subzero temperatures so I gather the pain of having so many freezing object imbedded into your skin must be very uncomfortable. Why, you can barely move” The Tsar said with a menacing flash in his eyes.

 

“B-bastard” Roy was able to croak out.

 

“Yes, yes. We’re all very upset. I’m horribly untrustworthy, just like you said. Time to move on, I think. Fuhrer, I want to suggest my second proposal. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, we’ve evolved our alchemic practices here in Drachma. I think we may even be the authority on water-based Alchemy. You see, the human body is about 70% water and it’s pretty simple to imagine the possibilities when mixed with Alchemy. I just froze your sweat so that it feels like you have tiny shards of glass in every one of your pores. Pretty potent, isn’t it? Well, we can do a lot more damage than that. Why, I can even freeze your blood. You don’t survive very long after your blood stops moving through your bloodstream, to your heart” the Tsar said casually.

 

Roy and the Brigadier General continued to writhe, but controlling their bodies was impossible.

 

“So here’s my proposal: you either knock down that infuriating wall, _or_ I set off the giant transmutation circle outside of the Alexander where all your troops are, then freeze them to death in a matter of seconds. Either way, we win. My people will pay back the blood you spilt seven years ago, Mustang. If not today with your troop of frozen soldiers, then tomorrow when we pillage your land after you’ve torn down the wall. It’s your decision, Fuhrer” the Tsar said.

 

“You won’t get away with this” the Brigadier General said through a pained voice and Roy felt a sting in his chest. He had put her in harm’s way again.

 

“I will, _aide_ , I will. Aw, now don’t look at me with such disdainful eyes. To show you my good will, I’ll give you twenty-four hours to decide. Men!” The Tsar said and four Drachman soldiers entered the office. Roy didn’t see any of his soldiers and figured they must have been captured. The soldiers surrounded the Fuhrer and the Brigadier General. Roy felt a hard object hit the back of his skull, and then…darkness.

 

* * *

 

He woke up in blackness. Panic took hold of him. Was he really in a dark room this time or had he gone blind again? He tried to make his eyes adapt quickly to the darkness, but he just felt himself spiral into a sinking hole of panic. This only increased when he finally remembered how he got there.

 

“General?! General, where are you?!” he yelled as he began lifting himself off the floor.

 

“I’m here, sir” said a nearby voice and Roy felt a hand slip into his and another slide onto his shoulder blade. Grateful to be reunited, he let some of his panic fade and gave a reassuring squeeze to the hand that held him.

 

“Are you hurt?” he asked, still holding on.

 

“Aside from our shared injuries, no. I think they hit you harder”

 

“Figures. General, are we in a very dark room?” he asked, afraid of the answer.

 

“Yes, sir. It took my eyes awhile to adjust. Yours will too” she said and he breathed a sigh of relief.

 

“Thank you, General”

 

“Here, come this way. Lean back on the wall. You might have a concussion” She said as she escorted him to one side of the room. He did as she asked and leaned against cold metal. He shivered. After his panic had died down, he realized he was freezing. He put his attention on his hands and realized they were gloveless. He checked his pockets.

 

“They took my gloves” he said and began taking off his left boot.

 

“Sir, what are you-”

 

“Got it!” the Fuhrer said and held up a glove he had kept safely hidden away in his shoe.

 

“I don’t think that’ll work sir. There’s something odd about these walls. I think this might be a jail cell specifically made for an alchemist, maybe even designed with your flame alchemy in mind” the General said. His eyes were beginning to adjust now and he could make out the curves of her silhouette in front of him. He positioned himself so he could put a palm against the wall in question. It felt odd, not like any metal he’d dealt with before. He clapped his hands together and tried to transmute it. Nothing.

 

“It’s a pure element. No traces of any other metals and I can’t transmute a metal I have no familiarity with. I’ll try melting it. All metals melt” He said and stood up. It was a fraction to fast as he felt himself nearly faint.

 

“Sir!” the General said as she reached for him. She put an arm around his back and let his arm hang over her neck.

 

“I’m fine. Back up a bit and let’s torch this place” the Fuhrer said and the Brigadier General complied. When they had backed away as far away as they could from the wall, Mustang let out a barrage of flame over it. He snapped his fingers to-and-fro for a solid two minutes straight, but after a while, it was clear no damage was being done.

 

“Damn it!” the Fuhrer said, “It must be a metal that can withstand incredible heat. I can’t scratch it”

 

“Sir, your injury. Please, sit down” she asked and he complied, leaning against the wall closest to him.

 

“Looks like we’re stuck here, General” Roy said as he felt her slide down next him, her arm just touching his.

 

“Yes”

 

“Noticed any wood lying around?” he asked.

 

“No”

 

“Can’t even make a damn fire to keep us warm”

 

“They’re only planning on keeping us locked up for twenty-four hours. I’m not sure for how long we were incapacitated for, but I’m sure it was at least for a few hours”

 

“Well, we’ll survive”

 

“Sir, what’s the plan?” she asked. He considered her for a couple moments and laughed.

 

“Oldest trick in the book: we ambush them when they open the door with some fire and then you grab weapons off the fallen. We escape” he said and he felt his mouth go dry.

 

“So, we kill again?” she asked and he heard rare unevenness in her voice.

 

“General, I will do everything in my power to make sure it doesn’t come to that” he said. He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. He didn’t mean to do it. It was just a knee-jerk reaction. A little prayer that asked that she never hurt again.

 

“I know you will” she said and enclosed her fingers around his. Her fingers fit nicely with his, like two puzzle pieces being placed together.

 

“I’ve burdened you again, General. I’m sorry. I think, for as long as I live, I’ll always end up having to use flame alchemy and for that, I’m truly sorry” he said. It was a confession of sorts. He’d always felt guilty for the guilt that plagued his aide and he was compelled to let her know.

 

“The burden is ours to share” she said simply.

 

“It shouldn’t be”

 

“It’ll never go away, sir. Even if you took _all_ the responsibility for those you’ve killed with flame alchemy, you’d never be able to take away the guilt I feel for all the people I shot during the war. No matter what, I am to blame for that. Please, do not pity me, Sir” she said. They both looked straight ahead, not daring to look each other in the face, despite the darkness.

 

“I _don’t_ pity you. I just don’t think you deserve to be punished for the rest of your life”

 

“On that, Sir, I’m afraid we disagree”

 

Crazy, uncontrollable thoughts began bubbling in his head, one right after the other, and then one thought hit him so hard he thought his stomach might drop right out of his body.

 

_Are we keeping ourselves from each other as a form of penance?_ He asked himself. As soon as he thought this, his brain kept going back to it. It was a nagging idea he just couldn’t let go. What if every instinct he had about her loving him was true, but she didn’t feel like she deserved to be with someone after all she’s done? Was her plan for them to both die alone and then their debt to the world would be repaid. Stupid, dutiful woman.

 

They sat in silence for several minutes as all this information stewed in Mustang’s head. It drove him mad and he decided that he needed to talk to her about it. There was nothing else he could do. This was not something he could contain within himself for seven more years. He tightened his fingers around the Brigadier General’s hand, which he was still clinging to.

 

“Brigadier General” he said, his eyes still trained in front of him. He let their lids fall as he asked, “If we hadn’t done the things we did, if we were just two unburdened people instead of who we are, would you-”

 

“Yes” and it was almost just a breath. It was barely audible, but the word hit him hard like a freight train. He knew she had not misinterpreted. They were always on the same page. There was no need for him to finish his question. He felt an insatiable urge to show her affection, to show her any sort of tenderness. The hand not holding hers reached out into the darkness and found her cheek. They were looking at each other now, or at least looking in the direction of each other. Roy’s palm had landed on her cheek and his thumb lightly stroked her chin. She tensed and he felt her cheeks go warm underneath his hand.

 

A greedy urge begged to kiss her, but the General put her hand on top of the one on her cheek and kindly took it off. The Fuhrer felt a piece of him tear.

 

“We can’t”

 

“I know”

 

Roy felt them both stop breathing as a cruel pain rippled through his body. It was better not knowing. He looked forward and away from her again. Their hands were still interlocked and he couldn’t bring himself to unlace them. He worried his heart would truly break if he let go. Instead, he held on and the Brigadier General made no move to pull away.

 

_Just for a little longer_ , he thought as he closed his eyes once again and leaned his head against the wall.

 

For either minutes or hours, they sat like that. Still and silent, but with a warmth in their palms, neither being able to retreat.

 

_CRASH!_

The entire room shook as the opposite wall began to tremble and light flooded into the once dark room. Light stung the Fuhrer’s eyes, so he used his free hand to cover them. He quickly forced himself to stare at the light source, however, and a wicked smile appeared on his face. Two familiar figures came into view.

 

_The cavalry had arrived._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I’m so glad this chapter is done! I’ve been slowly working on it for days. 
> 
> I know this is really angsty, but I’ll come through for you. Don’t worry.
> 
> Did the water alchemy make sense? I hope the water alchemy made sense. 
> 
> Couple things:
> 
> -Ushankas are those Russian hats with the ear flaps  
> -The room that Roy and Riza were in was made of a special kind of metal that I’ll explain it in more depth in the next chapter.   
> -The Alexander is named after a famous Russian leader, Alexander Romanov  
> -For the Alchemy concerning the room they’re in, I was thinking that if an alchemist has never encountered a particular element before, they probably wouldn’t be able to manipulate it until they understood its chemical make up. Does that make sense? 
> 
> Next chapter: The saviors revealed! And other stuff. 
> 
> Please review/comment if you get a chance. I really like hearing your feedback and it helps motivate me to write faster ;) Thanks so much for reading!


End file.
